


Going Home

by rei_c



Series: Cannibalism Aside (Samn) [25]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Azazel's Special Children, Blood, Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, Fear, Going to Hell, M/M, Mass Death, Murder, Plans For The Future, Possessive Dean Winchester, Possessive Sam Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Sibling Incest, Sigils
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 01:17:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5848198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/rei_c
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's time for Sam to take his rightful place -- and Dean's going to be at his side, like always.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Going Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [formalizing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/formalizing/gifts).



_We don't have to do this_ , Sam says. Blood drips off his fingers, joins the slowly congealing puddle on the floor. It's a good thing they both took off their boots and socks before they started cutting and draining or they'd be squelching in it. _We can erase the sigils, wait as long as we want._

_No, I want to go_ , Dean says, and his fingers curl into fists at the thought of how much he wants to do this. They've been talking about it for over a year now and Dean's been dreaming of Sam sitting on his throne, has felt his mouth water more than once at the thought of kneeling in front of his brother, between Sam's spread legs, and swallowing down his cock and come in front of every demon in existence, wants to show them all that he is the only thing Sam holds precious and that Sam is Dean's entire world -- heaven and earth and hell, all of it. _I just._

Sam clucks his tongue, reaches out and runs a jagged fingernail down Dean's cheek. _You could never do anything to upset me_ , Sam says, _except leave me. Even if you died, I'd just bring you back or join you in my next heartbeat. We don't have to do this, Dean._

_I wanna_ , Dean murmurs, eyes fixed on the sigil in the center of the circle, even as his body leans toward Sam, into Sam's touch. _It's time, Sammy, and we both know it._

Sam's devoured the power Azazel scattered throughout his two dozen children; his eyes are more golden than hazel these days, and it's time. It's past time. 

Dean's excited, he is -- but excited in the 'bared-teeth, sharp-nailed, blood already dripping from the knife in his hand' kind of way, an edge of reluctance and trepidation riding the impatience. He knows how demons react to power and Sam has that in spades, enough to make them all kneel at once if he lets go of his tight control, but Sam's more than just the filthy package of boy-king ability they'll see. He's perfect. They'll recognise that, too, and probably more quickly than Dean's strictly comfortable with. 

It's not that Dean's worried they'll steal Sam away from him -- nothing could tear the two of them apart, he knows that just as well as he knows the feeling of skin splitting beneath his hands -- it's that they'll belong to Sam in a way that Dean doesn't, not exactly, and Dean doesn't want to disappoint his brother. What if some important demon tries to take what belongs to Dean and he kills it for its impudence, ruins Sam's plans? What if the demons don't believe the ties binding the Winchesters together and try to keep Dean away, and Dean has to kill a wide swath of useful peons on his way back to Sam? What if there are things Sam has to do in order to cement his power that -- 

_Stop_ , Sam tells him. Sam's pressed up against him, back turned to the sigils, back turned on his birthright and future so that he can wrap his blood-smeared arms around Dean, align their hips, lean forward and down enough to press tiny biting kisses to Dean's jaw. _Whatever you're thinking, stop it._

_I'm sorry_ , Dean murmurs, nipping at Sam's earlobe before burying his face in Sam's neck. _Sam, what if --_

Sam cuts him off with a sharp press of his fingers into Dean's hips, maybe breaking but definitely bruising the skin. _We're not doing this_ , he says. _You said you were ready, Dean, but you're not and nothing is more important than you, so we'll wait. We'll do it later._

_We've cut up a dozen people for this_ , Dean argues, weakly. _We've been planning it for months._

_So we'll cut up another a dozen later on_ , Sam says. _Not the most we've ever done at a time. Not the first time we've done this many at once, either, so that's a bullshit excuse and you know it. Dean._ He pauses there and sighs, a moment later. _Dean, please. Look at me._

Dean lets out a deep breath, pulls himself away from the smell and taste of Sam's skin. It takes a moment to meet Sam's eyes and it's like a punch to the gut when he does. There's so much love and affection and need swirling in those golden irises and Dean's seen it before but he'll never see it enough, will never get tired of it. 

Sam smiles, a faint quirk of his lips, and says, _The only reason I seem confident at all about doing this is because you'll be with me. Beyond that, I'm just as unsure as you -- but I've got one thing in mind that's going to make all of this worth it._ Dean raises an eyebrow and Sam's grin deepens, turns wide and real and dirty. _When we go in, when we march right into the centre, when every single demon is on its_ face _at our feet, you're going to sit down on my throne and I'm going to suck you until you're hard and then I'm going to ride you while you have one hand on my dick. You're going to come in my ass and I'm going to come all over your hand and I'm going to judge every single one of those fucking things with you inside me while I lick your hand clean._

_Okay_ , Dean says, unsteady on his feet at the image and turned on beyond belief. _That's a good -- that'll definitely be worth it. Jesus, Sammy. Love your mind._

_You love more than that about me_ , Sam says, raising one eyebrow. 

Dean laughs, can't help but laugh. _Oh, sweetheart_ , he says. _I love fucking_ everything _about you._ His hands slide down, squeeze Sam's ass, and he adds, leering, _Love fucking every part of you, too._

_Don't wanna share you with them_ , Sam admits, quietly, pushing back into Dean's grasp before grinding forward into Dean's hips again. _Don't want any of them to see you the way I get to. But we'll show them. We'll show them all that being under my rule means being under the both of us.You're just as important as I am, down there. Fuck, you're more important._

_Sam_ , Dean says. 

Sam cuts him off, says, _You are. I might be their king but I'm nothing without you. They're going to have to accept that._

Dean's still human, where it counts. Demons won't like that, not if Sam raises Dean above every single one of them, but Dean's never liked it either. He wishes he wasn't so fragile, sometimes, that he'd be fast enough and creature enough to protect Sam the way Sam deserves to be protected and worshipped and adored and loved. He's been tempted, once or twice, to let a were bite him or a fang turn him, but Sam always seems to know when Dean's feeling the desperate urge to become more, become other, and kills whatever they're hunting before Dean can do anything. When that happens, Sam holds Dean close, pulls Dean tight and opens himself in every possible way, says _Not yet_ like he's seen the future. _It's not time_ , Sam always says. 

Maybe it'll be time, soon. Maybe the answers are on the other side of those sigils. Sam's right; they don't have to do this. They have all the time in the world and then more, because even if they die, they're both going to hell and they know it. 

_So let's make sure they know who's in charge_ , Dean says. He's ready. Now, with that last piece of assurance asked for and so freely given, he's ready. 

Sam studies him, flays Dean bare down to the soul, and Dean lets him, has always and will always let Sam do whatever to him, have every piece of him. It doesn't take long -- though it feels like it takes forever -- and then Sam smiles. 

_Yeah_ , Sam says. 

He pulls himself away from Dean, steps to Dean's side and takes Dean's hand in his. They walk to the wall and the sigils painted in blood; Dean thinks he can smell the faintest hints of brimstone and dark, delicious _evil_ wafting outwards from the wall. Sam gives him one more look. Dean nods and Sam reaches out, places his free hand on the symbol in the centre. The earth shakes and then the wall dissolves into nothing, showing a long corridor lit with bone-and-fat torches of hellfire. 

Now that they're here, the gate to hell open in front of them, sulfur falling around them like soft summer rain, Dean feels something inside of him unfurl, spread out, because outside of Sam and the Impala and his hands in someone's guts, he feels -- home.

_We should let our friends know we're here_ , Sam says, and his golden eyes flash white with lightning. _It'd be rude to drop in and not say hi._

Dean laughs. _We do hate to be rude_ , he says.

Sam grins, asks, _Alastair first_?

_Sure_ , Dean says. He closes his eyes, reaches for the feeling of Alastair's summoning sigils, for the particularly unique sense of blood and viscera and delight that surrounds Alastair, and something like a tug makes him open his eyes, look down the hallway into the flickering darkness. _This way_ , he says, and leads Sam into hell.

**Author's Note:**

> I know we've kind of slowed down on this 'verse but don't worry, there's still stuff going on in the background!


End file.
